


From Here to Forever

by 33lavender



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i'm eternally soft for the 19th of October so i really laid the fluff on thick hope you don't mind, phanniversary 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 08:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12627285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/33lavender/pseuds/33lavender
Summary: “Eight years ago, Dan had lived part of his day in fast forward. After weeks, months, of inching so infuriatingly slowly towards this boy who Dan wasn’t even convinced existed outside of his mind (and later, his heart), the 19th of October finally rolled around.”





	From Here to Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very late offering for the Phanniversary! I've been very busy finishing my first year of uni but I'm all done now, so I finally had the time to finish this off. Make sure you read the tags to check this is ok for you, but honestly, it's mostly fluff. Hope you enjoy!

_ yes, of course _

 

_ i remember _

 

_ how could i forget?  _

  
  


_ *** _

  
  


Dan felt it in the way Phil’s eyes lit up when a fresh stack of pancakes, warm from the pan and drizzled with every sweet thing they had in the house, was placed in front of him with a fond warning not to let it get on the sheets. It was late in the morning and they were still rubbing the creases of sleep from their cheeks. 

 

“Did I go back to sleep?” Phil said, sitting up and eagerly propping up his many pillows behind him, far more responsive now that pancakes had been thrown into the mix. 

 

Perhaps he didn’t remember. It was ok. They’d talked about it only hours before, but it was ok. They were still operating in the AM, mistakes were allowed. 

 

“I guess you did.”

 

Phil flashed him a brief look of apology, his eyes soft. “Sorry, love. Next year it’ll be my turn to cook.” 

 

So he remembered, then.

 

“You know you can cook for me anytime, right?” Dan shimmied back out of his pyjama bottoms and crawled into the warmth between the bed covers, invading Phil’s pancake space and sending a kiss plinking onto his ghostly shoulder. The holiday tan had worn off weeks ago. 

 

A forkful of fluffy pancake ended up in Phil’s mouth before he spoke. “And don’t I?” He swallowed. “Who makes your favourite dinners every Tuesday night?”

 

“The amazing Phil.” Another kiss, this time on the mouth, just to catch the last bits of maple syrup on his lips. 

 

“You’re sweet this morning.” A drip of sugar-thickened syrup skirted the edge of the plate and threatened to spill onto the cotton grey covers before Dan scooped it up with his finger. “Besides,” Phil continued, “you make the best anniversary pancakes. Mine could never compare.” 

 

“Mm, you’re right.”  _ How does he still make me feel like this?  _

 

“I usually am.” 

  
  
  


_ *** _

  
  
  


The first time, Dan’s hair had curled at the ends from the sweat, a product of both nerves and exertion. 

 

It was damp this time, too, but from the shower. Instead of stars decorating the night sky, grey midday light shone gently through the half-open curtains, while merciless rain pattered against the window. 

 

His voice was deeper now, his body had changed; grown into itself. He touched Phil like it was his own body, as if he’d never felt fear. Inhibitions were practically non-existent at this point, and Phil was glad for it, because the feeling of being so free was truly sweet. 

 

And free they were. Here, at least. 

 

Phil couldn’t hold Dan’s hand in the street or kiss his cheek, and sometimes it was hard to look at the other couples, their friends, even, knowing that there were things they could do without a second thought that, for the time being, were off-limits for him and Dan. 

 

But this was their house, their room, their love. 

 

Eight years ago, Dan had wrapped his legs around Phil’s waist and let himself go, and Phil had been there to catch him. 

 

_ He’s just as perfect as the first time.  _

 

Phil shifted a little and it must have been a good idea, because Dan’s back arched up beneath them and a noise escaped his pink, parted lips that sent Phil’s head into a tailspin, and he fell willingly. He always would, always would for Dan. 

 

Hands scrunched the sheets, an anchor to the physical world. 

  
  


***

  
  


Later that afternoon - or evening, since the sun had just gone down, not that it had been visible for most of the day - Phil felt it as he watched Dan through the bathroom door. 

 

They had reservations, of course. Phil supposed their habit of celebrating special occasions with expensive meals in classy restaurants that made both of them feel vaguely out of place must have developed early. It wasn't even a question of  _ what  _ they wanted to do at this point, it was  _ where do you want to eat? Do you want to try a new place?  _

 

They were creatures of habit, after all, and Phil had been craving sushi, so it was back to an old favourite.

 

Dan was planted in front of the bathroom mirror that spanned the length of the ensuite far wall, eyes trained on his reflection as he carefully shaped the curls atop his head. One of Dan’s various ‘Get Ready’ playlists was floating through the speakers, a song Phil didn’t know and probably wouldn’t have picked out himself, and Dan swayed along in time with the electronic beat. 

 

Stretched out on the bed and probably rumpling his blazer, one of the limited few he owned - Dan had insisted on it, and when was the last time Phil had said no to that silly grin? - Phil was quickly losing interest in whatever was showing up on his Twitter feed. 

 

Dan was captivating even when he wasn’t trying - a honeymoon phase sentiment Phil had never quite moved on from - so it was only natural that when he  _ was  _ trying, he became utterly magnetic.

 

Keen blue eyes watched, inconspicuous, as Dan leant back from the mirror, satisfied with his hair, and turned from one side to the other, still eyeing himself up and down. Mouthing along now, and nodding his head to the sleazy beat, he touched up his hair one more time. 

 

He pouted a little at the mirror, and Phil smiled. 

 

“Are you gonna come out here and model for me, or does the mirror get all your best angles?”

 

It was hard not to giggle as Dan’s eyes widened in immediate realisation. He spun around and rushed to the bedroom. “You could see me that whole time?” 

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Oh, God,” Dan was smiling, too, blushing like his 18 year old self. He buried his face in his palm for a brief moment, rose patch aflame when he re-emerged. “Wonderful. At least I was putting on a good show.”

 

“Always.” 

 

“Oh, shut up,” Dan said, but his words were soft, and Phil sat up so as to take in the sight of him properly. Unprompted, Dan turned in a circle, popping his hip and throwing a mock-sultry look at Phil over his shoulder. “Thoughts?”

 

“Come a bit closer. You’re talking to an old man without his glasses.” Dan rolled his eyes, but complied. “Better.”

 

“I thought this shirt was nicer than the other one. Goes a bit better with the shoes, I dunno how, but…”

 

The little hitch in Dan’s breath did not go unnoticed even with the music still filling the room as hands came up to smooth the non-existent creases in the sides of Dan’s white dress pants. They were slim-fitting, clinging to his thighs like a layer of water after a shower and ended at his ankles. 

 

“So what do you think?” he insisted. 

 

Even with some description of his boyfriend’s beauty already half way up his throat, with his hands resting on Dan’s hips he spun Dan around to face the gigantic, ornate mirror that sat propped against the wall. “You tell me.” 

 

_ Go on.  _

 

“Stop it.”

 

“No!”

 

“I look good.” 

 

Phil stood, observed, and pressed his lips to the back of the carefully tamed mop of curls that eight years ago had been viciously flattened and routinely burnt, though no less beautiful, in Phil’s biased eyes. “We keep agreeing, today, don’t we?”

  
  
  


***

  
  


Eight years ago, Dan had lived part of his day in fast forward. After weeks,  _ month _ s, of inching so infuriatingly slowly towards this boy who Dan wasn’t even convinced existed outside of his mind (and later, his heart), the 19th of October finally rolled around.

 

Everything leading up to stepping onto the platform whipped past him like scenery past a window, moving too quickly for Dan to focus, centre himself on anything but  _ Phil, Phil, Phil _ and the thud of his heartbeat in his ears. He had risen that morning on autopilot, brushed his teeth, triple-checked his bag with barely a word. To this day, everything that came before Phil on the 19th of October, 2009, existed in his mind as though it was hidden behind frosted glass. 

 

There was Wokingham, his home, the streets he’d grown up in, then the train station. Countryside, countryside, the outskirts of Manchester, the city, all of it flashing past in a whirl of colour, and then - 

 

He was there. He was collecting his bags, his hands were shaking, his whole body was shaking, and without even telling his feet to move he found himself on the platform wishing desperately with every ounce of power in his body to pick out a tall, shaggy-haired boy in the crowd before his heart gave out on him. 

 

He waited. 

 

He waited, and looked, his throat burning already, and saw only strangers. 

 

And just when Dan thought he’d been right all along, a woman towing a trolley of luggage behind her ducked her head and there, behind her - 

 

The second he felt Phil’s arms effectively crush him into his chest, time stopped, and started again, and Dan wondered whether he’d been living in the present day until this exact moment. 

 

“You’re real,” Phil huffed against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re real, Dan.” 

 

The entirety of Manchester Piccadilly station could have been screaming in chorus and Dan would only have heard Phil’s hushed voice, only felt Phil’s breath against his skin. 

 

Dan hugged him back in a vice-like grip, and made a silent promise to never let go.

  
  


On the 19th of October 2017, their taxi swung a left and made its way past Kings Cross. The momentum of the turn pushed Phil (who was already closer than was strictly necessary) even further into Dan’s shoulder. 

 

“Look,” Dan murmured before he could stop himself - God, they’d been insufferably sappy today, even for them. Even as he felt his cheeks warming, he let himself direct Phil’s attention to the station as they passed. “Wrong one, but…”

 

Phil’s face remained blank for a few seconds, before he cottoned on with a small ‘Oh!’ He smiled warmly at Dan, pressed a kiss to his forehead, just above his eyebrow, and didn’t need to say anything more. 

 

Still, he took Dan’s hand and squeezed it as he settled further back into his seat. Together, they watched the cityscape pass. 

  
  
  


***

  
  


“We should take out shares in this place,” Phil said, very full and a little tipsy from the sugary pink cocktails he so favoured. 

 

“We should,” Dan agreed. We spend enough time here.” He plucked Phil’s half-empty Cosmo from the table and took a sip he definitely didn’t need. His head was already fuzzy and the little bits of sugar on Phil’s lips looked far too tasty. 

 

Up until five minutes ago, their fingers had been playing a flirtatious little game on the table top. For ‘ _ Dan and Phil’ _ , it was daring, rebellious, and sometimes it was fun to tease fate that way. But for Dan and Phil, two men who loved each other, it was normal. 

 

Sometimes, they decided, they deserved to let themselves be normal. 

 

Unfortunately a waitress had passed their table one too many times to ignore, so they had shifted their game to beneath the table. Their ankles were hooked together, and Phil was rubbing at the inside of Dan’s bare ankle, smirking at his own self. 

 

Dan leaned back in his chair. “And enough money.” 

 

“Think of it as karmic repayment for when he ate nothing but cup noodles for like, two months,” Phil said. Dan couldn’t disagree with that, not that he was a believer in karmic forces. Their early London days had certainly been a challenge, for more reasons than one. 

 

“Why did we keep that fucking couch?” he said, referring of course to the one that had been demoted to the den in their new place. It had been the first one they’d seen in the magazine that they could afford, all those years ago. At the time, anything had been better than cushions on the floor. How far they’d come since then.

 

Phil shrugged. “For the memories.”  

 

“Part of the Dan and Phil origin story, is it?” 

 

“Yeah, of course.” Phil smiled. “Seen everything, that couch, hasn’t it?” 

 

“Everything.” 

 

“Do you think it ever thought we would just...throw it out?” 

 

Phil’s smile faltered for just a second, like a candle might flicker and then burn again, and Dan was suddenly aware that perhaps Phil wasn’t talking about just the couch. 

 

“I don’t believe the couch is sentient, Phil, but,” he caught Phil’s eyes and held his gaze, “no. Of course not.” 

 

“I don’t think I could bear to say goodbye, at this point.” Phil said softly. 

 

“Me either. We’ll keep it. Even when it’s lumpy and uncomfortable and falling to bits.”

 

Phil grinned at that, leaning in, and for just a second Dan was waiting for a kiss. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

 

“What? I’m just saying that when it’s old and fraying and covered in dog hair - ” Phil averted his gaze, and Dan swore he saw a little bit of pink in his cheeks - “and kids toys, we’ll still keep it.” 

 

“You think I’m old and fraying?” He was teasing now, and giggling, and everything around them was pink and the air was sweet, and they were in love. “I thought we were being nice to eachother today?”

 

“Fine. But only because it’s our anniversary.” Dan polished off the rest of Phil’s drink. “I think you’re young and beautiful and I would sit on you anyday.” 

 

Phil feigned outrage. “Terrible! You’re terrible, Dan Howell.” 

 

“I’m not the one who tried to undo your pants under the table!” 

 

“I did it out of love, thank you very much,” Phil said, and Dan scoffed. 

 

“Such a romantic.” 

 

“I love you.” 

 

Dan went quiet for a moment, and looked. Phil looked back, laughter in his eyes and etched in the lines on his face that hadn’t been there when they’d met, eight years ago, desperately clinging to each other in a sea of people. In that respect, at least, not that much had changed. 

 

“I love you, too.” 

 

“To the next eight years,” Phil said, and their hands found each other again. 

 

“I was thinking forever.” 

 

“I’ve been thinking about forever since I met you.” 

  
  


_ Has it really only been eight years? _

  
  


“To forever, then.” 

**Author's Note:**

> please don't be afraid to leave kudos and comments, they make me immeasurably happy! Or find me on tumblr, @floralhowelllester :)


End file.
